


Acquired Tastes

by TheJotunPoleDancer



Category: Actor RPF, Thor (Movies), Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Ace!Tom, Angst, Asexual Character, M/M, Pan!Chris, Pansexual Character, Realistic views, The representation of an ignorant society, man sex, relationship dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:06:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2617949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJotunPoleDancer/pseuds/TheJotunPoleDancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surely his sexuality couldn't matter <i>that</i> much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exposure

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, all! Its been some time. I'm just trying to get myself back into writing, and I thought I'd start with something that truly interests and affects me before I begin my next AU, see if I am still capable of syntax. This story does touch on very real subjects and contains a few widespread opinions on Ace and Pan individuals, but I hope it opens a few eyes to those who do not fully understand the sexualities. I hope you enjoy!

“Hello, my name is Tom. Now, before we begin, I should warn you, I am asexual.”

“Hi, my names Tom and I’m an asexual.”

“Hello there. My name is Tom and….does your shirt actually say ‘DTF’?”

Dating was difficult for Tom. In general, with his _affliction_ , as many would call it, it was quite the arduous task to find someone who would accept him in the long term.

Tom, up until his twenties, had always thought there was something wrong with him. It was a large enough shock to his family when he turned up to Thanksgiving, straight out of University, accompanied by another young male from his class. It was even more of a shock to his family when, by Christmas, Tom had a different boy alongside him.

And then that boy was gone by New Year’s.

All in all – though his family was still catching up - Tom had accepted his life as a homosexual…until it came to the ‘sexual’ part. Intimacy simply wasn’t his strong point, and most guys could look past his aversion for a good make-out session, but when he refused hand jobs, they were out. It wasn’t until a visit to his third therapist that Tom realised that asexuality was even a thing…and that it – along with homoromantic – described him perfectly.

It was fucking liberating.

For years, Tom had thought he was hormonally broken, intimately challenged, and then he finally had this…this label. He had a very normal classification to his desires – well, his lack thereof – and, because he was so relieved to have it, he very much liked to flaunt it.

Thus why dating was so difficult to him.

So, he’d tried speed dating.

It was just as difficult.

“Hi, my name is Tom, and – heads up – I’m asexual.”

There was a usual silence that followed that statement, a quirk of the brow or a glazed and dazed onceover…and then, there was usually a question.

“So…you like…reproduce with yourself?

_Ding_

“So…you were sexually abused as a kid?”

_Ding_

“Did you just get out of a bad relationship?”

_Ding_

Or the statements like:

“Oh, baby, don’t worry. I’ll get you loving sex all over again.”

_Ding_

It was infuriating to say the very least.

Tom had been through twelve guys thus far, all of which could not get the concept through their thick skulls. All of them had already accepted homosexuality, surely the equally anti-heteronormative wouldn’t be that hard to grasp.

“Maybe, you’re actually straight.”

_Ding_

Tom wanted to go home. This hadn’t even been his idea. His sister Emma had pushed him into this, and all that had happened was his three years of self-discovery had been diminished to photosynthesis jokes. It wasn’t what his self-esteem needed. What he need was a hot cup of tea, some trash television—

And _this_ guy to talk to him.

Tom straightened up in his chair and offered a smile to his newest match. His nametag read “Chris,” but his body read Adonis, and though Tom was not struck with sexual fantasies of Grecian baths and oils, he knew when to appreciate a fine piece of art. And whoever or whatever had created this “Chris” had not wasted a second in his masterful form. He was tanned, tall, blonde, blue-eyed, and looked like he could work a hard day in the field, and then clean up nicely and go out on a fine date. He was well put together but ruggedly handsome and Tom wished he could just congratulate the man on his looks, but he didn’t want to come off too strong. Or crazy.

“Well, you’re the most handsome guy I’ve set my eyes on all day.”

Tom nearly melted. _And_ he was an Aussie.

“The name’s Chris and you are…Tom.” He’d read the nametag. “Pleased to meet you, Tom.”

“And you, Chris.” He watched as the man pulled out his chair and took a seat, swiping his hand back through long blonde hair to keep it from falling in his face.

“So,” Tom started, “Is that short for Christopher or…?”

“Just Chris,” the Aussie smiled warmly, not correcting Tom as much as he was just informing him. “People use my real name, I think I’m in trouble.”

They both shared a laugh over that – one of those contrived, awkward first date laughs that Tom had experienced too many times. It wasn’t necessarily _not_ funny…but it wasn’t the comedic genius that usually sent Tom rolling in floors.

“So, Tom,” Chris started again, “Found anyone here tonight that you can see yourself buying a home with? Unless you’re not looking for that, of course.”

“Uh, no—I mean yes.” Tom took a sip of the water before him. He didn’t want to be too forward. “I am…looking for something more long term, but no one here has really expressed the same interest. Especially not in me.”

“What?” Chris sounded genuinely surprised. “I mean, commitment is a little scary, yeah, but I thought most of us here were looking for the long term.” Most of _us._ Chris was looking for long term. “What are they doing to you?”

“It’s not them,” Tom chuckled half-heartedly, another sip of water down. “It’s me. They all start freeze up when they hear that I’m a—“

Tom didn’t know why he stopped. He didn’t know why, after so many times of blurting it out, he stopped now.

Tom had always had a really spot-on perceptive gauge on people. Like animals and small children, he usually could tell when a person was good or a threat and Chris just seemed…so kind. He had these wrinkles at the corners of his eyes from laughing, and he had yet to stop smiling since he’d sat at the table. His hair was long but tamed and clean. He wore many bracelets, but each one was old and clearly held sentimental meaning…

And Tom didn’t want to ruin his chances with a guy like Chris so soon. He was tired of being pushed to the side, mocked both inadvertently and directly. Even if Chris seemed like the guy who might hear him out, Tom didn’t want to risk it. Besides, if things worked out, Chris wouldn’t even need to know right away. That wasn’t first-date-pertinent information.

“Because I’m a huge theatre buff, and I guess that’s not exactly thrilling to them.”

Once more, Chris looked genuinely confused.

“Are we talking Shakespeare theatre, Chekhovian theatre or….contemporary, Kushner, Shanely stuff?”

Tom was going to explode.

“All of it,” he replied honestly a tad breath taken, a smile forming on his thin lips. “I…really love all of it. I prefer the classics, but…yes. All of it.” He didn’t want to ramble. He didn’t want to scare Chris away.

So far, he hadn’t.

They continued on until the one minute warning bell was rung. Tom hadn’t even realised they’d been talking that long. They’d covered everything from their love of their families to interest in theatre, to jobs – Chris worked as a bartender just a few blocks down the street, and Tom was a waiter on the other end of town. They’d hit it off harder than an overeager child at a tee ball game. Tom could not be more pleased.

With what time they had left, Chris scrawled his number on a napkin before handing it over to Tom, who did the same on his napkin to give to Chris.

“I really want to see you again,” Chris told Tom honestly. “I mean, I might not even play it cool and wait three days to call you. Hell, I might even text you tonight.”

“And I might text back,” Tom teased, though he most definitely would without question. Chris really was great and Tom could really see himself forming a bond with this guy. He hoped it worked out.

_Ding_

Chris groaned as he had to stand, putting on a show for Tom.

“Hey,” he said as he was passing. “Really. I want to see you again.” The new guy took his seat across from Tom, but Tom couldn’t care to notice. “I just want to warn you, though. Get it out of the way now.”

He was a serial killer. Tom knew it.

“I’m uh…it freaks a lot of people out, but…if you have any questions we will text about it.”

He had bodies hidden in his house. He was on a cross-country run to make a break for the border.

“I’m uh…I’m pansexual.”

Chris, with a final smile, finally moved on to the next table. This new guy clearly had no interest in him, much like Tom had no interest in the man across from him. So…Chris was…pan. Tom had a basic understanding of that, but…he had to admit that it sounded like a conflict of interest. No. It definitely sounded like a conflict of interest.

Tom didn’t know what to make of it, but he was willing to talk about it. He wanted to know more. He would have expected the same had he…admitted to his own sexuality.

But that would have to wait.

For the time being, Tom finally turned his attention back to the new guy who seemed a little less than thrilled to have his time taken by another…but who seemed genuinely thrilled to impress Tom.

“So,” the guy started, already laughing at a joke he’d not delivered yet. “Does that mean he likes pans?”

_Ding_


	2. Pansexual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading. I know its not the riveting tale of two serial killers, but it means the world that you still want to read it.

Chris had called Tom first. He’d waited a full hour after the speed dating session had ended before asking Tom out to dinner.

“I don’t want to seem desperate,” he’d told Tom at dinner that night. “I just…I’ve never hit it off so flawlessly before. Most people –“ Not guys. Not girls. “—I’m really great with first impressions, you know?”

Tom thought he did, but so far, Chris showed no signs of being a serial killer.

“And I could just tell you were a great guy. That you can drink a beer just as well as you can a wine. That you have this natural flair for conversation, and you are ready to love someone. That you’re naturally a happy guy—but you looked so…defeated when I first arrived at your table.” Chris took a long sip of his drink. Tom noticed a blush at the tips of Chris’ ear, but since it was soda Chris was drinking, Tom had to assume it wasn’t because he was drunk.

“But then I just…you lit up, mate. And whatever I had done to make that change in you…I just wanted to do it as many times as I could.”

\---------------

Their third date was at a coffee shop just around lunch time, when the streets were filled with people walking to the shops along the strip. Tom had arrived first as his house was much closer to the spot, and sat quietly at a table outside, waiting for Chris to show up.

It was evident that Tom really liked Chris, but that wasn’t to say he was ready to jump atop a white thoroughbred and elope this evening. The feelings Tom had for Chris were much too screwy to do that just yet.

For years, Tom had yearned for someone to understand his sexuality and accept him and it into their lives, yet with Chris, he couldn’t even admit to it. He knew why he was this way – he simply didn’t understand Chris’ sexuality and, though Tom wanted to, he couldn’t get past the looming negativity it left him with. There was something so noble in the idea of Chris loving, quite literally, everyone…but Tom – for some odd reason – saw that as a threat at this point. Overall, Tom thought he was a pretty confident guy, but when he was so aware that Chris could react negatively to Tom’s secret identity – like he was a fucking superhero – and literally turn to _anyone_ , it was a tad jarring to his worth.

“Tom!”

At the call of his name, Tom glanced up to see the person in question himself – a human being, in the flesh, smiling so wide, the blue of his eyes rivalling the clear, autumn sky – and he felt like an absolute dick.

“I brought you—“ Chris stared at his hand, and it was only then that Tom followed the gaze to the flower Chris held. “Well…a flower. It’s a flower. I have no idea what kind it is.” It didn’t seem to bother him too much. “But it is now your flower, to the burden is on you.” He handed it over with a smile.

“Good luck.”

\----------

Tom had been iffy on night dates, opting instead for lunch or coffee. He had gotten over his idea that pansexuality meant promiscuity, but he had yet to cross the importance of sex off the roster. He hadn’t wanted to risk it.

But Chris had hung past three dates, then four, then five, and Tom had a feeling Chris might actually like him at that point. Not many people could deal with Tom’s passionate rants that many times, and be interested in sex alone.

If so, bless Chris’ dumpling heart. He had sat through an impressively gesticulated rant on the importance of Rochester in early British literature. For an hour.

\----------

It was their tenth date that Tom invited Chris over to his house. He made sure their date was in the day time with an invitation to a homemade lunch before Chris had to start his shift at work. Chris readily agreed.

As Tom prepared the meal, Chris wandered unabashedly around the living room, checking out the pictures of Tom and his family, his extensive collections of novels and plays on his bookshelf. He had everything ordered meticulously on the shelf, with two shelves dedicated to plays alphabetised title, three for classics with the same scheme of order, and then a third shelf for books on language and psychology.

Chris dimly wondered if he should ask Tom to start a trivia team with him.

There was a particular book that stood out to Chris on the psychology of sex that he just _had_ to pull out, mainly because, just peeking out at the top, he could see a little post-it that read “Pan,” written in the same scrawl Tom had penned his phone number with on that napkin.

In the book, the kept page was marked and highlighted as a student would a text. The definition had been marked, and stars had been placed next to a very scholarly table differentiating bisexuals and pansexuals. The most noticeable mark made by…whomever had taken these notes though, was a very dark, much done-over line over the phrases, “sexual attraction.” Chris couldn’t even think of the importance Tom may have seen in those words.

The only thing he could think of was how _caring_ Tom was to even look up such a thing.

Most people just thought Chris’ sexuality made him promiscuous.

Needless to say, Chris enjoyed every second of his lunch with Tom, a new sense of adoration rushing over him.

\----------

Three months had passed, and Tom really seemed to be warming up to Chris. It had taken the full first month for Tom to finally admit he could “free up his nights,” and even though he nearly sounded wary of doing so, he’d done it. Chris could not have been more pleased.

At first, they only went out – to bars, restaurants and, just once, ice-skating in the town center.

Tom had been great at it.

Chris had been subpar.

But after the ice-skating, in a mind-blowing series of events, Tom – winded and pink-cheeked – invited Chris over to his house, _at night_ , for hot tea and a film. They never got to the film, as they had spent most of the night discussing Chris’ niche for surfing…and Tom’s swearing that Chris was just trying to compensate for such awful form on the ice. They laughed and joked…but Chris noticed Tom’s attitude change when he saw it was well after midnight.

At least he had been kind in kicking Chris out.

Chris knew Tom wasn’t telling him something. He assumed intimacy issues, perhaps a fear of being left. It happened. Chris wasn’t the most loyal in his past, and perhaps Tom had found out about through a friend or something. The town was relatively constant, after all. Surely there were people they both knew that could warn Tom of Chris’ past relationships.

But, by the time Chris saw Tom again, everything was more or less as it had been before Tom kicked Chris out, so he didn’t bother. He was aware they were well into their…’relationship’ of sorts, and he had yet to kiss Tom, but…surely, in time. It would work out. Chris had rushed through many relationships. He could take his time in this one.

\----------

“You get the pan question a lot then?”

“So. Fucking. Much.”

Chris was pleasantly tipsy at this point in the night. After having spent the day with Tom, visiting museums and walking through the park, singing really loud and out of tune to the different songs that came over Tom’s iPod speakers as they both got ready to go out. After much deliberation on Tom’s part – Chris nearly thought he was on the verge of cancelling the date - Chris had taken the bathroom, Tom his own room with the door locked very tight _just in case_.

Tom had not figured out the _just in case_ part, but he wasn’t going to fuck with Murphy’s Law today.

They’d gotten out without a single ridiculous, rom-com moment - no falling through doors and into each other’s naked arms - so with that win down, they were ready to go out.

“So pans are _totally_ out of the equation, then?” Tom was equally tipsy, sitting across the booth from Chris despite Chris having been trying to pull him in the seat alongside his own body. “Not even Martha Stuart’s?”

Chris flicked a complementary peanut at Tom’s head.

He missed.

“They’re totally out,” Chris assured him, though he did not hold the same contempt he usually held when this question was presented. Tom had genuinely been trying very hard to understand Chris’ sexuality since he realised how liberated it made Chris feel. Tom knew the feeling and was eager to hear all about it, wanted Chris to be able to talk about it…even if it did clash with Tom’s _situation_.

“Here, Ill dumb it down for you.”

The peanut that Tom flicked did not miss.

“Hey, hey! Listen,” Chris laughed, taking another swig of his beer and leaning over the table so that Tom could hear him over the billiards games to their right. “I’m just saying a person’s gender or sex shouldn’t hold me back from being happy with someone. So I don’t let it. Like—listen.” He sat up straighter, readjusted his position.

“I dated this girl named Rayn. She was great. Had a vagina.”

Tom nearly spit his drink out.

“Dated this other girl named Anna. Also great. Had a penis.”

Tom was not meant to keep this drink in his mouth.

“Dated Antony. No gender adhered to. Fucking great individual. No idea what genitals they had, didn’t ask. Great mouth, though.”

Tom didn’t want to have the conversation anymore.

And Chris could tell.

Throughout their frequent hangouts, Chris had really started to catch on to Tom’s ticks, and Tom had done the same with Chris. There had been one night where they had decided to stay in and finally just watch a movie. Chris had, at one point, draped his arm around Tom, which had been fine…until the movie got intense and Tom clearly just _had_ to move. At least, that’s what he told Chris.

In response to his shifting midway through the film, Tom had learned - during a lengthy evaluation of his true intentions in moving away from Chris - that no matter how much Chris had to say – no matter how many arguments and well-formed opinions he had – he did not like to be stared at while he presented them. It threw him off.

Tom was kind enough to back off when he knew, and Chris would be too. With explanation, of course.

“Let’s go to your house, yeah?” Chris asked, reaching over to take Tom’s hand only briefly. “I want to tell you something. In private.”

He didn’t get to tell him that night.

\----------

Or the night after.

\----------

Or the one after that.

\----------

In truth, the information Chris had already shared that night with Tom had left the Brit more than a little on edge.

Now, Tom didn’t think Chris was promiscuous or anything like that anymore, but just hearing that track record on his sex life made Tom a tad uneasy. Chris had been through multiple relationships – and understandably so – but he’d also fucked in every one he had mentioned.

That made Tom believe, very passionately, that Chris held sex in relationships up to a certain importance.

And why shouldn’t he? He was a good-looking guy who was allowed to enjoy sex. He was allowed to live his life as he wanted. He fit right into any crowd. Gay, straight, bi, other pans – Chris fit in with them all.

Tom, once more, felt like he was the problem.

Chris didn’t share that sentiment.

\----------

They were back to day dates when Tom finally agreed to see Chris again.

They were sequestered back to the coffee house in the morning, little cafes for lunch. Each one went off without a hitch, Tom constantly saying he just didn’t feel well or he was just too busy with work. Tom felt awful for the mini-break, but it was one of those issues where he knew, if he just ignored it, it would go away, and everything would be normal again. Every time, they mowed right over the subject of what Chris had wanted to share with Tom, but four months into this thing, and Chris was ready to share.

So, after things had begun to level themselves again, Chris had invited Tom over for a dinner he’d cooked himself. He had learned early on that Tom was not a vegetarian, could eat like a man three times his size, and had an affinity for potatoes.

So Chris cooked three different potato-based dishes, made his on fruit and cheese plate, and even went so far as to make Tom these pudding cups with Oreos crushed to make dirt and a gummy worm to make an earthworm coming from said dirt.

It had been Tom’s favorite dessert as a child.

He’d told Chris on their fourth date.

Dinner went immaculately, Tom satisfied and wowed by every dish Chris had made for him. Tom was a terrible cook, and in case Chris didn’t remember that from the burnt chicken he’d made so long ago, he reminded the Aussie thrice. _Just in case._

It was when Chris served the pudding that he decided to talk.

The face Tom had made upon seeing the dessert – seeing him light up as he had when Chris had approached him, when he presented him with that nameless flower – he had to undo whatever he had said at that bar to make Tom lose that glow, to dismiss Chris with a few ill-prepared excuses.

“I have had issues with faithfulness.” Chris had prepared the line in the mirror so many times, he presented it with a practiced ease. He wasn’t proud of it, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“Hear me out.”

Tom was trying.

“When I found a…name for what I was, I got really, really excited about it. My parents had just latched on to the idea that their son was gay…and then I brought home a woman and just…threw them for a loop. Their reaction just…it made me feel wrong about bringing her there. Even worse when I brought home a boy not a year later.” Chris took a moment to get his thoughts together before he continued.

“I thought I was just open-minded, but it was everyone else that made me feel wrong for being so…accepting, I guess. So I went to a counselor, and….suddenly I had an identity, you know?”

 Tom did.

“And I wanted to explore it. I just wanted to be happy…with a lot of different people. So I exercised that want.”

Chris hadn’t touched his pudding.

Tom noticed.

“So I…slept with a lot of people – a lot of people who I was in actual relationships with. Short relationships, but relationships nonetheless. I was just so _elated_ with the circumstance, that I…I celebrated in the best way I knew how.”

Tom didn’t want his pudding anymore.

“But, Tom, listen.” Chris wanted to take Tom’s hands, but he knew how Tom liked to move them when he spoke. _If_ he spoke. “There’s something so different about you that I just can’t figure out…”

Tom could.

“But I really, _really_ like it.”

…Tom hadn’t expected that.

“It’s new and…it’s _exciting_. There’s just something absolutely thrilling about you that I can’t figure out. But I want to.” He was getting awfully close to Tom. “I really fucking want to.”

Their lips met not a moment too soon.

It was a sweet kiss – rather literally with the chocolate Tom had just eaten – but they both seemed to enjoy it all the same. It was a comfortable show of affection that Tom melted into. It felt right. It felt like everything Tom had been denied since his so-called ‘liberation.’ It was everything he had been waiting for, and he was euphoric.

Until Chris’ hand pushed up into his curls and pulled Tom in closer. Tom’s rear was barely on the stool anymore. Chris had pulled him so close, and—and that was his tongue. Chris’s tongue was in Tom’s mouth. And his hand…his hand was travelling awfully lo--

“Wait—“

Tom pulled away despite Chris letting up the moment he heard Tom’s hesitation.

“Just…wait.”

There was an understandable twinge of confusion in Chris’ eyes, a glint of despair. He’d opened up to Tom, and Tom…well, he had opened up to Chris. He’d been enjoying the kiss, but…maybe he had been too fast. Maybe…maybe he was reading this whole thing wrong? Maybe his perceptions, his readings of Tom…maybe they were off.

“I am…” Tom was standing now, his hands on his hips, his eyes down on the floor. Chris had stepped back to give him space. Chris eagerly awaited any sort of explanation, wanted to right what wrong he could, but Tom was clearly void of words. Chris could see him warring with himself. Over what, he didn’t know, but oh, he wanted to.

“I really like you, Chris,” Tom confessed, but there was defeat in his voice. “I…I really do. Really, really, really do…” He was stalling, chewing on his lip. Chris hoped he wasn’t trying to gnaw away the feel of Chris’ lips on his.

“Take your time,” Chris murmured soothingly, understandingly. “Take your time, I’ll w—“

“I’m asexual.”

There was a pause, and in it, Tom already knew that Chris understood. He could tell by the look on his face – bewildered and defeated.

As if it wasn’t bad enough, the only noise to break the silence was Chris’ groan of:

“Fuck….”


End file.
